“There’s no one.” She turned the radio down, then closed her eyes. “It’s just me.”
The defeat in her voice made my throat ache. “What can we do to help you?”
“Just move me. Then leave me.”
I frowned. “Where?”
“Push my car to the side of the road,” she said, with a pause between each word. “You can’t come near me. Move me. So I don’t get hit. Please.”
She didn’t have the energy to open her eyes. Her arms were lax, her chest fighting to fill with air. The longer I watched her, the heavier my heart got, and I’d never felt so useless in all my life.
"We can do that for you," Tim said. “Turn the ignition a single click to the right, then put the car in neutral.”
She huffed with fatigue and fumbled for the dangling keyring. Once she’d completed the task, I almost reached in and gave hershoulder an encouraging pat, but stopped myself before I could make another mistake. Stupid. Too close. Too risky.
“You’re doing great,” I said. “Now, the gear shifter.”
The woman opened her eyes and shoved the car into neutral with a last burst of determination. The exertion sent her into a coughing jag so hard and violent I winced.
When it was over, her chin lowered to her chest, and blood fell from her mouth, droplets of bright red staining her white cardigan.
“All right, last job,” Tim said. “Turn the wheel to the right so we can push you out of traffic.”
She used her remaining strength and wrenched the steering wheel to one side, then coughed and coughed until I thought she’d never stop.
Tim’s eyes reflected my frustration. We wanted to be patient, but we needed to get away from her as quickly as we could.
Another car passed through the intersection. The driver, a young man with a mullet who couldn’t have been older than eighteen, stared as he weaved through the scene at walking pace. The second he caught sight of the woman’s condition, he sped up and disappeared.
“We need to get out of here,” Tim mumbled. “I’ll ring the hotline when we get home and have her body picked up.” In a louder voice, he addressed the driver. “Okay, love, we’re disappearing behind you and pushing. Hit the brakes when I tell you.”
She nodded, then her head fell back against the headrest, her once pristine cardigan splattered with red.
With the image burned into my mind, I hurried to the rear of the car with Tim and positioned myself on the opposite side of the boot. As we began pushing, I sent him a sideways look. “I hate this,” I said. “She’s dying. Something’s wrong with Ava. My car’s a wreck.”
“There’s no food in the supermarkets. People are turning into selfish dickheads. We’re going to be extinct soon.”
Letting my legs do most of the work, I stepped up the pace. “You’re supposed to be making me feel better, not depressing me even more.”
“I’m joining your sad little pity party,” he said as a light mist fell. “It’s what best friends do.”
“Well, can you be less of a good friend?”
“Impossible, I’m afraid.”
If distracting me from the task had been his goal, it worked. We reached the side of the road in no time.
As the front wheel of the Audi wedged against the curb, Tim called out to the woman to hit the brake and put it in park.
More coughing came from inside. I didn’t know her and never would, but the thought of her spending her last moments with no one to hold her hand brought tears to my eyes.
“Looks good.” Tim straightened and dusted off his hands. When he caught sight of my expression, a sense of urgency took hold of him. “Let’s move.”
“Are you sure?” Torn between compassion and self-preservation, I whispered, “Should we stay with her until… you know?”
“No.”
We returned to the driver’s window, and he instructed her to engage the handbrake. She’d been given too many tasks for her dwindling capabilities, but somehow dug deep and complied.
